


the best of you belongs to me

by faaulkner



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Collars, Cuddling, Leashes, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Power Bottom Will Graham, Praise Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-25 04:48:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30083700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faaulkner/pseuds/faaulkner
Summary: He smiles, and the warmth in his face reminds Hannibal not for the first time why it is he engages in this. Why he allows Will, and only Will, to see him like this.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 2
Kudos: 29





	the best of you belongs to me

**Author's Note:**

> I spend a lot of hours doing produce prep at work, and most of those hours are spent staring into space while handling a very sharp knife and coming up with filth like this. Also inspired by the ~viiiiiiibes~ of art posted by [Vati](https://twitter.com/hannigwam) earlier this year. Please, please go support him on his patreon (which can be found on his twitter), everything he makes is so beyond lovely and I think everyone should be aware of that fact.
> 
> Title courtesy of NFWMB by Hozier.

The collar is already warm to the touch as it is looped around Hannibal’s neck, despite having only been resting on a pillow beforehand. It always feels so, no matter how long its's been left untouched, the thrill and anticipation that Hannibal feels when he first sees it enough to warm the very leather to his skin.

He sits patiently still as Will loops one end through the buckle, clasps it, running a finger between the collar and his neck to check for adequate room once he's done. The look on his face as he does so is fond, as if he's performing a beloved task instead of preparing Hannibal for the events ahead.

“Up to par?" Will asks, attentive even after his thorough check.

Hannibal gives a single nod from where he kneels at his feet, then because it is expected of him when he wears the collar: “Yes, Will.”

"You feel ready to begin?"

“Yes, Will."

The look in Will's eyes grows even warmer, icebergs melting to give way to serene blue waters. At that he turns to retrieve what's set next to him at the foot of the bed, running it through his fist as he grips one end until the clasp of the leash is between his index finger and thumb. Hannibal can only swallow. It's one of their deceptively simple ones, rich brown leather to match Hannibal's collar with the gold clasp accenting it.

For a moment Will only fiddles with the clasp, all too aware that Hannibal is watching him with wide eyes. But then reaches for him, holding the metallic loop at the front of Hannibal's collar aloft and connecting it to the leash with a soft _clink_.

The sound is more than enough to affect Hannibal. He isn't quite at the point where he’s aching for it, not yet, but the effect the two items have on him is already notable. He breathes deeply, soothed and centered by the binding around his neck, the way it connects him to the only person worthy of leashing him in. A similar phenomena seems to be occurring for Will, and he gives a gentle tug on the leather in his grip just to toy with them both.

He doesn’t give either of them time to dwell, though. Instead he briefly places the leash on the duvet, hitching himself up to crawl backwards onto the bed. The movement is not entirely graceful, but it doesn't even come close to taking Hannibal out of the scene, as it is so distinctly Will that he wouldn’t have it any other way. Will allows himself to recline on the pillows with a deep sigh, one hand propped behind his head and emphasizing the the swell of his bicep. He is a perfect specimen, from his jutting collarbones, his muscled thighs, to the delicate arches of his feet. Hannibal has happily spent hours attempting to put something close to him on paper, and will happily continue to do so. He's a better study than anything the Greats could have once conjured.

He can tell when Will has had enough of letting him look his fill, because all at once he takes the leash lying parallel to him on the bed and yanks Hannibal towards him.Hannibal goes with a small sound, crawling onto the bed and even further to hold himself over Will when the pulling doesn't let up. He catches himself just as their skin brushes, Will's legs opening to frame Hannibal’s body.

"There you are, " Will murmurs, running a hand from Hannibal’s temple to where the collar sits in one long stroke. He is yet to allow any slack in the tether in his other hand and so Hannibal remains still, attentive.

"You're going to fuck me like a good boy, aren't you?"

A hot thrill runs through Hannibal at the question, making his breath catch and his cock twitch where he's already hard. He nods. “Yes.”

"And you’re going to do it exactly how I want, no matter what?"

“Yes, I will."

Will loops the leash around his hand a few times, the better to pull Hannibal even closer. ”Have at it then.”

Hannibal takes the permission for what it is, follows the tether pulling him even closer to the cradle of Will's hips. He takes himself in hand and, without any usual teasing or prolonging he would have applied in another situation, sinks into Will where he’s already wet and prepared for him.

They both sigh as he bottoms out, twin exhalations that fill the air of the otherwise silent room. Hannibal wants to go on, move until he can make it as good as it can be for the both of them, but he waits. He seeks Will's gaze, and very nearly doesn’t breathe until he receives it along with a patient nod.

"Very good, waiting for me to say you can start," Will says, poised even as Hannibal begins to steadily thrust into him. "Go slow, for now. I want to feel it."

Hannibal obeys, as he can’t imagine doing anything else in this moment. Even if he wanted to rebel, go against Will's orders and coax out the cruelty he knows simmers below the gentleness as he is wont to do, the leash keeps him firmly in place. Will has pulled his arm far back, allowing only enough slack for Hannibal to go the pace requested but little else.

It's all too easy to lose himself in the rhythm, to let the heat banking in his gut to warm him. Like a fire thats's devolved to only embers, but could be brought back to roaring flames at any given moment. The harsh pressure along the back of his neck is juxtaposed to the familiar feeling of Will’s tightness around him, an ounce of pain for every bit of pleasure Will gives him. It makes it so that when Will slowly begins to egg him more, both in words and his pulling, it feels more like a natural progression than anything else.

They carry on like that, Hannibal beginning to thrust in earnest but only at Will's command. Will seems to hold his very body under his control, arranging his next movement with only a word or two or three. (“ _Faster, baby_. " “ _Slower, but deeper now_.”) It feels like both an eternity and a few scant minutes later when Hannibal is truly pumping into him, the clasp dinging discordantly, the leash slapping lightly against his chest where it's gone a bit slack. He has Will's hips in his grip, after being granted permission to do so of course, and he's helpless but to watch the quivering flesh under his touch, the twitching of Will's flat stomach as he writhes below him. Will is resplendent in his pleasure, lips parted, eyes at half mast as his begins to dip back into the pillows, but not once does Hannibal question who still holds the power in their arrangement. 

Hs thought is proven correct when not a moment later Will visibly pulls himself back from something, shooting a hand out to shove against Hannibal’s abdomen.

"Stop," he says, breathless. "Pull out."

Hannibal’s hips stutter and stop at the abrupt order. “Will - "

Will doesn't hesitate to bring his open palm to Hannibal's flank in a slap, the impact stinging, the sound sharp after only that of their moans and breathing.

"Pull out, now. Or else."

Hannibal’s every instinct is screaming at him to continue, to go on chasing after the fall that had seemed so close. But Will is asking, no, _demanding_ something else of him, so he complies. He eases out, fighting a rough sound at the cool air that hits his wet flesh.

At Will's coaxing he inches back, enough so that Will can push himself up into a sitting position. His legs remain open, and Hannibal can't stop the way his eyes keep drifting to the sight of his cock resting hard and dripping on his thigh, the scant glance of his open and reddened hole. As Hannibal stares Will places the leash to the side, a sign that at least for now he doesn't intend on tormenting Hannibal with it any further. He then turns to face him fully, plans forming in his eyes.

"Sit back on your heels, for me, baby."

He smiles when Hannibal does so, and the warmth in his face reminds Hannibal not for the first time why it is he engages in this. Why he allows Will, and only Will, to see him like this. Once he's settled Will's hand goes back to the collar that now sits a bit crookedly.He adjusts it, runs his fingers along it, and much like he did earlier he slips his index into the gap between the leather and Hannibal's neck.

Though unlike earlier Will's expression is only contemplative, and while earlier he had only done this to ensure Hannibal could breathe, now he only looks as if he's wondering what would happen if Hannibal could not. His finger twitches, as if wanting to twist the collar tighter, cutting off his air entirely. But then just as quickly he releases it, his thumb smoothing out any creases he may have caused.

Hannibal remains still as Will's hand drifts lower, finding a resting spot in the center of his furred chest where the leash still rests. And here Will's eyes slip into something more admiring, almost dreamlike. Hannibal has to stamp down on any errant urge to twitch under the scrutiny, willing his breathing to steady as Will's fingers briefly toy with the hair there. The path continues, forming a trail of heat to his sternum, the slight softness of his stomach.

It takes a moment for him to adjust when Will’s hand jumps straight to his cock after that, still mostly hard and flushed after the interrupted stimulation. Hannibal can only watch, stock still as he holds its weight in his palm, thumb toying along the base, fingers lightly teasing the underside. He plays with him like that for several long moments, and what strikes Hannibal is that he does so not dispassionately, but fondly, as if he's handling a particularly treasured heirloom. The open appraisal makes something vulnerable and ugly and wonderful trickle into his stomach, makes his toes curl where they're pressed into the mattress.

Will's hand leaves him then, to reach for the bedside where he'd discarded the lube after preparing himself before Hannibal. And that is all the warning Hannibal gets before Will faces him once more, wraps his slick fingers around him, and begins to stroke in earnest.

"Hands to yourself. Don't come." Will doesn't even look up.

" _Will_."

The word is more of a sharp inhale than anything. Hannibal wouldn’t be able to help it even if he tried.

But Will does not repeat his instructions. He doesn’t need to. Because they both know that for tonight at least Hannibal will be good, _needs_ to be good for Will like he needs air.

Will puts his all into his ministrations, rapidly fisting Hannibal’s cock the way he does when they’re short for time and he needs him to get off quickly. The circle of his fingers is almost too tight, the tease of his thumb over the head of him on every other stroke too much at once. It’s enough to have him sighing in pleasure again in no time. What with the fresh lube on Will's hand the sound of it all is positively _lewd_ , and Hannibal has to flex his hands on his own thighs to restrain himself. From what, he’s not sure; he only knows all of his thoughts and urges have been reduced to _obey._

He risks another glance at where Will is stroking him, and almost breaks from that alone.

It's _obscene_ , the red head of him peeking in and out of Will’s fist quickly, so quickly. He's so enthralled by it he doesn’t at first notice Will leaning in to kiss him.

Bu kiss him he does, and Will's lips are so tender on his it seems to shake them both out of it for a moment. Enough so that Hannibal doesn’t think twice before responding. They share taste and touch and breath and what feels like so much more for a few seconds, before Will pulls back. He doesn’t resume his touches, though, only leaning his forehead into Hannibal's, a look so affectionate in his gaze Hannibal doesn’t think he could feel anything but _cherished_. There's an edge to it though, a questioning, an expression of concern for any ill Hannibal may be feeling at the moment.

Even now, with his leather on Hannibal's throat and his hand on Hannibal’s most intimate piece of flesh, he is ensuring that he is alright, that he doesn’t need or want of anything. It's humbling, to be so cared for even in this moment.

Hannibal could answer him verbally. It may even be preferred, in some cases. But he loathes to break the hush that speaks so much more than anything that could come out of their mouths. So he merely tilts his head forward, an almost nudging of his temple to Will's own. It's answer enough for Will, and he smiles.

Back to business then. Before Hannibal can revel in their shared closeness for one more second Will is reclining back and taking the leash back up one fluid motion.

"Enough of that," he says, as if he wasn’t the one who began the interlude of sorts. "You can continue. But I’d like for you to fuck me for _real_ now. Like I know you’ve been wanting to.”

And before Hannibal can even act he’s being yanked forward again, none too gently, closer and closer until he has Will’s legs over his shoulders, Will practically bent in half below him.

“Will, thank you,” he says, as if he is the one being bestowed with a great gift. Because he is.

“Don’t thank me. Just do as I asked.” The words are biting, but they’re softened by the shadow of earlier’s smile curling Will’s mouth.

It’s over after that. Hannibal still controls himself, still keeps any roaming touches to himself, but this time when he enters Will he gives no thought to restraint or gentleness. He does as Will asked, and fucks him like he _means_ it, like he’s been yearning to since they began. He can’t help but feel so grateful for this, this allowance, when Will could have easily kept him dangling for much longer or denied him altogether.Grateful for Will indulging him in this and also allowing himself to be indulged in turn; acting in offense when Hannibal wishes to yield, and vice versa when the tables are turned. It’s an understanding that’s hard won, but all that sweeter for it now they’ve earned it.

“That’s it, good boy, just like that,” Will croons out once Hannibal has started to move impossibly faster. His voice, punched out as it is, is not unlike the one Hannibal hears him use when he’s praising the dogs. It _should_ feel debasing, but Hannibal would be preening if he were able.

Will can most likely sense this, as in the next moment he’s reaching down to stroke himself. Speeding along his own release and keeping in line with the rule that Hannibal is never to come before him when they’re playing with this dynamic.

The sight of him only spurs Hannibal on more, fighting in equal conflicting measure to stave off his own orgasm and also help Will to achieve his. Will does little to help, pulling him in with the leash still in his other hand until they’re practically forehead to forehead once more.

“You wanna make me come?” he asks, half into Hannibal’s open mouth. 

Hannibal wants nothing more in the _world_. “Yes Will, _please_ , more than anything.” 

Will gives a huff at that, still somehow managing to be rueful, even in this. "Keep going then, keep - " he grits out, and then he's throwing his head back as he comes messily between them. Hannibal feels each crashing wave of pleasure as if it were his own. He continues fucking Will through every one; he would't be able to stop moving even if he wanted to.

It's to the point where it feels almost unnatural to slow down, but he grits his teeth through it, both in deference to any oversensitivity on Will's part and in wait for his next command.

He holds himself still on all fours over Will, muscles twitching, heart thrumming like a trapped animal in his chest. A part of him longs to reach for Will, to bring him back to earth with touches that both soothe and tease. But he hasn't been told if he could. So he sits, like a trained creature waiting for praise, waiting, waiting.

Eventually, Will lifts his arm from where it'd landed over his eyes, peeking out at Hannibal as if checking for obedience. He is visibly pleased at what he finds.

"That was good, baby." His voice is so warm, even beneath the sudden cloak of exhaustion. He reaches out with slightly sluggish movements, pats the swell of Hannibal's ass fondly. "You can go ahead now, take what you need."

Hannibal can't help the whole body twitch that wracks through him. It's rare, but sometimes Will will force him out once he's brought Will over the edge, force him to find his pleasure in merely his hands or something even lesser, so he feels especially thankful for whatever he did to please him tonight.

It's only once he's begun to roll his hips into him again, hesitant at first but gaining traction, that he knows he won't last that much longer.

Will lies still below him, lazy in his satisfaction but gaze still eagerly witnessing the breaking down of Hannibal's walls. He still holds the leash but his grip has slackened the most it ever will tonight, as if Hannibal truly is an animal that he is trusting to roam on its own. He shows no sign of pain or discomfort, only a pure openness. He is offering his body to Hannibal in its entirety, allowing him to use it as he needs but trusting him to not once mistake the gift as submission. Hannibal feels rather as if he is worshipping at the altar of a great deity, gracious in one moment and wrathful in the very next. 

It makes his thrusts grow sloppier, punchier, losing their rhythm until he's going at the same pace that he's chasing his impending release. Will takes pity on him and cradles his cheek with his free hand even as Hannibal shudders above him. It's more grounding than even the collar around his neck.

"Will, _Will_ \- " The name comes out shaky and abortive.

"It's okay, Hannibal. You're safe, I've got you."

It all seems to occur in bursts of sensation after that. Will's wide-eyed gaze tracking his every move. The tiredness in his limbs, the by now familiar clinking of the leash. They all tumble together in his mind until it becomes too much; one last punishing thrust and he's collapsing into the crook of Will's neck, the safest place in to world as far as he's concerned.

He's shaking through the aftershocks, a pitiful thing, and Will holds him through it all. The leash sits awkwardly crushed between them, no doubt getting ruined, but it's ceased to exist for them. All Hannibal knows is Will's arms around his frame, caging him in against his body and keeping him from drifting away.

"Good boy," Will murmurs into his hair, over the cacophony in Hannibal's head. "Such a good boy I have. I'm so proud of you, sweetheart."

The words feel like the whiskey Will favors: they burn as they go down, almost too much to bear, but they bring a warmth to his insides that feels like it could consume him. It manifests in a sudden wetness that Hannibal only feels because Will's skin has grown damp where it's pressed against his eyes. He tries to blink through it, eyelashes growing tacky, but it's to no avail. The tears continue to flow.

Will senses his frustration, the beginnings of humiliation, and puts a stop to it right away. He shushes him oh so gently, like a father would a child, his hand rubbing up and down his back. A few more moments pass before he speaks again, and he sounds so gentle it has the power to bring a fresh wave of tears in.

"You believe me, don't you? You believe that you're my good boy?"

It is all so _much_ , more than Hannibal most likely deserves. But for now he can do nothing but _take it_. Take what Will gives him, and feel so protected, so loved, so _safe_.

Hannibal nuzzles further into his neck, snuffling lightly and nodding, believing him.


End file.
